


back in the water

by zigsexual (anythingbutloud)



Series: the driam vignettes [8]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, M/M, the compass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutloud/pseuds/zigsexual
Summary: the engagement tour is a welcome distraction from the fact that liam has labeled them Just Friends. if only labels didn’t have a tendency to peel off.





	back in the water

After the coronation, everything is different.

Madeleine doesn’t leave Liam’s side, following him around like a shadow, digging her claws in at every opportunity. The air around him seems heavier, weighed down by responsibility and circumstance. Drake keeps his distance as best he can, their eyes still meeting in the hallways sometimes, carrying secrets they refuse to speak.

Riley is gone at Ramsford for weeks, finally coming back to court clinging to Maxwell, never less than a few feet apart at all times. She makes her post-scandal debut clutching his hand, only adding to the whispers in her wake, but she holds her head up against everyone, angrily rebuking Drake the first time he approaches her.

“Where were you?” she hisses, pain in her eyes. “None of you reached out to me. You didn’t text, you didn’t call, you didn’t check in even once. Maxwell said you guys were just trying to help, but you didn’t even think to _talk_ to me in all that time?”

“Liam thought… he thought it would be safer for you if we —”

“Who gives a fuck? You’re supposed to be my _friends_.”

She leaves him like that, walking away with her face burning, blinking back tears as she crosses to rejoin Maxwell again.

“Are you okay?” Drake hears Maxwell ask her, voice lowered. He looks over at the two of them, watching as Maxwell tentatively rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she replies, pausing a moment before adding, “Thank you. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I want to.”

Riley looks at him then: eyes soft, smile tender. Maxwell doesn’t drop his hand, instead slipping it around her shoulders. The next time he speaks, his whisper is too quiet to catch.

Drake pulls him aside later, when Riley has been intercepted by Hana, and Maxwell tells him that she’ll be fine, she just needs some time. “She’s taking it hard. I know you guys were doing what you thought was best, but it’s not easy being on national blast without your crew, you know? I’ll talk to her.”

And he does. For a while, he’s the only one who can.

They start on the engagement tour before anyone has a chance to stop reeling at the fact that Madeleine is back, in this place yet _again_ , and Drake thinks maybe that’s part of her plan, to just keep them going and going until they run out of energy to fight back. To an extent, it’s almost working: he keeps finding himself awake at seven in the morning, pouring whiskey into a coffee mug and wondering if the sunrise will ever carry good news again.

He’s spent way too much time in Olivia’s room recently, and the funny thing is that sometimes they just talk — out on her balcony with a bottle between them, or sprawled out on the bed staring up at the ceiling. He’s fallen asleep a few times like that, waking up in the middle of the night and sneaking back to his own room. One of their rules was no staying over, although in present circumstances the rules have seemed more like guidelines.

They’re in Italy when he finally makes it through a whole night, only stirring from sleep when he hears Olivia start the shower. He sits up, blinking slowly until he remembers where he is, head aching, then throwing off the covers in a mild panic.

Olivia’s voice rings out from the bathroom, the door still slightly ajar. “I’m not ordering you breakfast or any of that bullshit, so you’re on your own.”

“Good morning to you too,” he calls back. “And don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

The door cracks open and Olivia sticks her head out, the strap of her silk pajama top falling off one shoulder. “Yes you are.”

He makes a face at her. “No thank you.”

She opens the door wider, one hand already on her hip as she frowns at him. “Do you remember _anything_ about last night? You were so drunk you started crying halfway through the act and then wouldn’t stop talking about Liam for so long I’m pretty sure I could write the biography of your disgusting romance by now. I had to put on my noise-canceling headphones, Drake.”

“That did _not_ happen,” Drake retorts, although for the life of him she’s right about one thing: he can’t remember what did. “Give it a rest, okay?”

“I knew you would say that, so I took a video,” she nods towards her phone, charging on the bedside table. “Feel free to check out _that_ hot mess any time you want.”

He scowls. “Fuck you.”

She regards him, feigning disinterest, but he can tell there’s something sincere in her eyes. “If you leave, you’ll just get drunk again. You have to start being sober for once in your life. This is the way it’s going to be from now on, might as well get used to it.”

“Oh, so now you’re Florence Nightingale?”

“Hey,” Olivia says, a crease in her brow. “I may not give a shit about you, but I don’t want you to _die_ , dumbass.”

“Jesus, okay,” Drake raises his hands in mock surrender, rolling his eyes at her. “Do you at least have ibuprofen in here?”

“Check my purse,” Olivia points towards the closet. “I stay stocked.”

She doesn’t head back into the bathroom when he stands up, still lingering in the doorway, watching him. When she doesn’t think he can see her, she bites her lip anxiously — but he sees.

“I’m not going to off myself, Olivia,” he calls out, rummaging through the pockets of her designer bag, “I’m not a stranger to this shit.”

“I know,” she sounds hesitant. “It’s just that… it hasn’t always been so final, you know? This is really… it.”

He looks back at her over his shoulder. “You really think he’s going to marry Madeleine?”

“You really think he _isn’t_?” She’s leaning against the doorframe now, fingers toying with the hem of her shorts. “This is Liam we’re talking about here. Do you actually think he would mess with tradition? Remember when he was a class safety officer in Year Six and he gave _himself_ detention for talking during a lesson? He didn’t even try to push back when Leo dropped this on him. I mean, he fucking picked Madeleine when it all came down to it. He’s been the golden boy of this family dynasty ever since he learned how to walk, don’t expect him to start tarnishing now.”

And maybe she’s right.

—

Maxwell and Riley have hatched a plan to clear her name, and they let him in on it over dinner. Drake is skeptical the second they start talking, but the two of them sound so determined that he doesn’t want to burst the bubble.

“…and once we find Tariq, he can issue a statement about the photos,” Maxwell excitedly explains through mouthfuls of food, “which will put Riley back in good standing so we can confront the traitor and figure out who started this mess in the first place, and then Madeleine will be out of the picture!”

“And then Liam marries Riley?” Drake adds, deadpan.

“Only if he wants to,” Riley answers, looking down at her soup.

“Which he _does_ , of course.” Maxwell smiles at her, and she forces a smile back, dragging her spoon through the untouched bisque. Maxwell seems to notice her unease, resting a hand on her arm. “Hey, it’s a good plan. We’ll get you two back together in no time.”

“I know,” Riley says, his words doing nothing to soothe the unease on her face.

“My job is scouting the reporters so we can locate the one who left that press pass Riley dug up,” Maxwell continues, pointing towards the press area of the event with his fork. “I’m going to do a preliminary sweep and then we’ll strike when the time is right.”

“So, how do you determine when ‘the time is right?’” Drake asks.

Maxwell considers this for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “Probably my instincts. I have incredible instincts. I mean, I brought Riley here, didn’t I?”

Riley cracks a smile at that, glancing over to Maxwell quickly before lowering her gaze back to her bowl. “Thank god, too. What would anyone gossip about without me?”

Maxwell’s jovial demeanor falters. “We _are_ gonna figure this out. I promise.”

“Yeah, Brooks,” Drake joins in, “You know I’d never let a bunch of stuffy nobles ruin the day for one of my people.”

“I’ll start my sweep right now, okay?” Maxwell pats her on the shoulder, slipping out of his chair. “Keep your phone on you, I’ll text you if I see anything. Reconvene before the dessert course.”

“Roger that,” Riley jokes, shooting an exaggerated finger gun in his direction. He returns it, grinning, walking backwards a few paces before darting off into the crowd.

There’s a long pause between the two of them left at the table. Drake watches Riley as she takes a mouthful of soup, swallowing slowly. She looks the way he feels — diminished.

“Not a fan?” he asks, tilting his head towards her bowl. She drops her spoon with a sigh, leaning her hand on her chin, elbow resting on the table.

“It’s not the food. This is all just…” She waves her other hand dismissively, a general regard towards the rest of the room. “It feels pointless. Like, do you actually think we’re going to get to the bottom of this? Do you think Liam would really just ditch Madeleine? He seems too — for lack of a better word — _noble_ to do that. Did he even put up a fight about taking his title? I can’t imagine him shirking any sort of duty.”

Drake shrugs, looking down at his own plate. “He loves Cordonia. He does what he thinks is best.”

“I wonder if he thinks I’m what’s best,” Riley says, cheek sinking in further against her hand. “I’m not exactly Queen material, if we’re being honest.”

“He cares about you. I think… well, if you can just be there for him, maybe that’s what Cordonia needs.”

“Did he tell you that?” Riley’s eyes search his face. “I can never tell what he’s thinking. It’s like… I don’t know, like all his emotions are always locked away somewhere. Sometimes I’ll think I’ve made a breakthrough, and he’ll say something like he really means it, but then he’s always so quick to cover it back up.”

“Yeah,” Drake smiles wryly. “He gets like that. They all do, the royals.”

“More like he’s _always_ like that. Do you think he’s ever cried?” Riley tilts her head, looking at him inquisitively, a half-smile on her lips. “Or when he gets sad, does he just like, calmly record his observations with a fountain pen in a leather-bound journal to be discussed at a later date? ‘ _Dear Diary, felt sadness today, immediately corrected it so as not to appear disingenuous for the court_.’”

Drake laughs, rolling his eyes. “Cut him a break, he’s literally always in a spotlight. You just have to spend time with him outside all the court bullshit. He cries all the time. He literally cried yesterday.”

Riley arches an eyebrow, sitting back in her chair. “You’re joking. This is _Liam_ you’re talking about, right? King of Cordonia?”

“The one and only.”

“Wow.” Riley crosses her arms. “And here I was, on the cusp of engagement, still thinking he might’ve watched Marley and Me with a dry eye.”

“Did he ever talk to you about that?” Drake ventures, curious even though he dreads the answer. “The engagement? I mean, before all the stuff with Madeleine went down.”

Riley shakes her head. “I didn’t see him much that night. He mentioned he wanted to talk to me, but I couldn’t find him again after we danced, so Max and I just walked around the palace together. By the time we got back to the ballroom, they were already starting speeches.”

“Oh,” Drake says, his mind going back to that bench in the maze, the feeling of Liam’s arm around him, the ache in his chest as they said their goodbyes. “I thought he might… well, I’m not sure what I thought.”

“He’s a fascinating case, I’ll tell you that,” Riley is back to stirring her soup absently. “Obviously I like him a lot, but… I don’t know. What you were saying, about spending time with him? I mean, I have. And sometimes I think… when it comes to how he really feels, I’m not so sure he’ll ever be open like that with me.”

“C’mon, Brooks. He wants to marry you.”

She looks up, eyes sharp as they catch his own. “Does he? Or am I just the best option within his limited buffet?”

“Well,” Drake raises his eyebrows. “You’re in an interesting mood.”

“The funny thing is,” she continues, “No one ever asks me if  _I_ want to marry  _him_.”

Drake holds her gaze. “Don’t you?”

Maxwell bounds up, breaking their spell, already talking as he claps his hands down on Riley’s shoulders: “Sorry, sorry, I know I said I would text, but I’m almost certain I’ve found the photographer we’re looking for and we need to go create a diversion right _now_ or we’ll miss the opportunity and if we miss the opportunity then —”

Riley reaches up to pat one of his hands, the other pushing her chair back from the table. “I’m on it, Max. Double-oh-Riley at your service.”

“Drake, you’ll hold down the fort for us?” For some reason, Maxwell’s expression seems to convey that he finds this to be a very important task. Drake, who is always game to stay sitting at a table rather than engaging in various nonsense, takes this as a godsend.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Perfect.” Riley is standing now, smoothing out her dress, smiling. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“With clues!” Maxwell adds excitedly, already steering Riley off in the direction of the press pen, his hand on the small of her back.

—

After Italy comes France, and of course the City of Love. It’s a particularly bizarre trip, one that culminates in perhaps the most horrific news that Drake has ever received — he and Maxwell share a nephew.

The revelation is not without its joyful minutiae: he’s found Savannah and the baby itself is a welcome delight, despite being genetically tied to Bertrand Beaumont. Although he wants to lose his mind at Maxwell for keeping this secret from him for so long, he manages to refrain upon hearing Savannah tell all the ways he’d looked out for her over the past years. She seems happy, anyway.

Riley won’t let him forget it, a mischievous smile on her lips as they leave the apartment. “I can’t believe your sister fucked Bertrand.”

“Hey!” Drake glares at her. “That’s my _little_ _sister_ , okay? Jesus.”

Riley snickers. “Your little sister let Bertrand hit it raw.”

“I am not above punching a girl, Riley —”

He’s not above punching Bertrand, either, which he makes a valiant effort to do at Liam’s bachelor party (which, _really_ — did they need to have another one?). He’s only held up by Maxwell, who very nearly takes the punch in Bertrand’s stead, much to Riley’s horror. She spends the next fifteen minutes fussing over him in the limo when they make their getaway, despite the fact that Drake had barely even grazed his cheek.

The two of them spend the entire rest of the car ride playing truth or dare with each other, trying desperately to get Drake to join in. He refuses, partly because it’s a stupid game, and party because he’s now very much afraid to learn any more hidden truths from Maxwell.

When they arrive back at their hotel, Drake is floored to see a tiny bundle of fluff launch itself at Riley when she opens the door to her room. She pulls it close, laughing gleefully, a blur of tan and white fur.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck is that?” Drake says, staring at the creature in her arms.

“Oh, I forgot!” Riley says brightly. “We got a dog.”

“Who’s ‘we?’”

“Me and Maxwell.” Riley scratches its head, pressing a kiss into the fur. “His name is Chance. Isn’t he the cutest?”

Drake turns to look at Maxwell, eyebrows raised. “Dude, you got a dog together? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Maxwell’s eyes sparkle as he looks fondly at Riley and Chance. “He’s the best.”

“Maxwell.”

Maxwell just smiles demurely. “Don’t be jealous, Drake. It’s unbecoming.”

The plot thickens after Riley discovers that the scheme against her goes all the way to the top, which is the kind of ridiculous thing Drake would only expect out of a B-grade movie. Although, all things considered, the plot of his life is somewhat adjacent to a B-grade movie itself, complete with the handsome prince.

Well. King.

Said King has been keeping his distance, just as he’d said he would. And while part of Drake is happy to not be constantly surrounded by a physical reminder of his pain, he’s also missing the one person who could ever truly alleviate it.

On their last night in Paris, the whole engagement tour takes a trip to the opera, much to Drake’s dismay. It’s the kind of stuffy thing he always makes fun of, and all of the insufferable nobles are there, and Liam isn’t. Or, more accurately, he _is_ , but he’s been confined to the box seats with Regina.

Drake, on the other hand, is right next to Maxwell and Riley.

“Seat buddies!” Riley singsongs once she sees Maxwell approaching.

“Seat buddies!” He echoes, holding up his ticket triumphantly, bumping his shoulder against hers as he sits. She beams.

“Please don’t include me in this,” Drake groans, leaning his head back against his chair.

“Seat buddies is too sacred for you, Drake,” Maxwell says, snagging Riley’s program so he can flip through the pages. “Only fun people get to partake.”

“Yeah,” Riley is still smiling, “Only _fun_ people.”

“If that’s what it’s like to be fun, I’m glad I never signed up. Besides, where did you think you’d be sitting? The royal family bought these tickets in bulk.”

Riley makes a face at him. “Stop ruining my fun.”

They chatter on together with no end in sight, Drake busying himself scanning his program so as not to get looped into their conversation. Midway through his second read-through of the cast list, his phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out, intending to turn it off so no one will shoot him daggers during the actual production, but he freezes when he sees who the message is from.

_Regina left and now it’s just me up here._

Drake stares down at the screen, not sure what to reply, not sure if he even should. Almost as if Liam is reading his mind, another message comes through: _Remember when we used to sneak out of the palace balls and try to climb up onto the roof? That’s what I want to do right now._  

Drake smiles. _It’s not a particularly comfortable looking roof._

_You’re right. You always are._

“Truth or dare?” Maxwell is laughing next to him, he and Riley back on their regular routine, completely oblivious to the way Drake’s expression has softened. God, it’s embarrassing, the way something as simple as a text message makes his heart feel so warm.

“Dare!” Riley answers, grinning mischievously. “Do your worst.”

_Your box is practically the roof anyway._

“Hmm…” Maxwell assesses her, pretending to weigh his choices, face scrunched up dramatically as he leans his hand on his chin. “What to dare the Lady Riley of House New York?”

_If that’s the case, all I’m missing is you._

“House _Beaumont_ ,” Riley corrects. “I think I’ve earned my place.”

Drake flips his phone over, screen down, taking a deep breath. He turns in his seat and looks upwards, squinting into the darkened room, trying to make out where Liam might be. It all looks the same to him.

“Aw,” Maxwell claps a hand over his heart, tilting his head to smile. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Lady Riley of House Beaumont,” Riley grins, smacking him on the arm. “That was an _easy_ one, I told you to do your worst. So much for your infamy at this game.”

Maxwell gasps in mock horror. “Don’t threaten my reputation! You wound me.”

Drake sees the screen light up over his knee, and he hazards a glance even though he knows nothing good can come of it. _Sorry. I didn’t know who else to talk to._

The lights dim, signaling the imminent beginning of the show, and Drake uses it as an excuse. _It’s okay. Show’s starting. Talk later?_

_Of course._

Beside him, Maxwell and Riley have lowered their voices, whispering back and forth as the rest of the crowd falls into a quiet lull. Probably assuming no one can hear her, Riley tilts her head to whisper to Maxwell, “Truth or dare?”

“Last one,” Maxwell whispers back. “Dare.”

She smiles. “Dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Right now?”

“Whenever is most convenient.”

He smiles back at her, leaning in close and pressing a kiss to her cheek, pausing just against her ear to murmur back, “Done.”

When he leans back into his seat, eyes trained forwards towards the opening curtain, Riley looks down at her lap and smiles so wide Drake suddenly feels like maybe he shouldn’t be watching them after all.

—

They hit Shanghai full of jet lag, and Drake isn’t able to find a good whiskey anywhere, so he settles for drinking Hana’s rice wine with a sour expression on his face. Not even the baby pandas at the sanctuary they visit are much of a mood booster, although he does feel a pang of affection when he sees Liam cradling one in his arms.

Hana’s family makes Drake grateful for his own, despite his sister’s poor taste in men. Her parents steer her around like a toy, her smile more pained than ever. When they invite the whole tour for a tea ceremony, Drake wonders if there’s any possible way he can feign illness to get out of it.

He only decides to go during dinner that first night, when Liam drops by their table during his perfunctory greeting rounds.  “Will I see you all at the tea ceremony tomorrow?” He asks, eyes only on Drake.

The rest of the group choruses their affirmations, but Drake only nods, watching the way Liam’s face breaks into a smile.

The trip itself ends up being quite the climax of their quest to restore Riley’s reputation once she reveals exactly who had set her up to fail at the coronation. She tells Drake while they’re in the boutique getting ready for the ceremony, an almost permanent furrow settling between her brows.

“It was Constantine,” she says bitterly. “He didn’t think I would be good enough.”

“Did he actually say that?” Drake asks, careful to keep his voice down amidst the bustle of the other girls from the engagement tour. “He didn’t think you’d be _good_ _enough_?”

“More or less.” Riley sighs, looking at herself in the full-length mirror. “What a dick.”

“Well, he’s old. It’s not outside of his character.”

“Do you think he’s right?” Riley asks, glancing at him via his reflection. “Would I really be able to make it as a noble?”

“Of _course_ you would,” Drake answers, making a face at her. “You’re really going to start doubting yourself because some decrepit old man can’t get with the times? Brooks, you’re one of the best people on this stupid tour. I know we haven’t… always seen eye to eye, but you’d be a great…” He can’t bring himself to say _queen_. “You could definitely make it as a noble.”

“Thanks,” she turns so she’s actually facing him, offering a half-hearted smile. He smiles back. “That means a lot, coming from you. Even if your sister is a Bertrand-fucker.”

“Forget everything I just said. You’re dead to me.”

The tea ceremony is just as boring as he’d expected it to be. Maybe if he cared more about tea, he’d be able to at least partially justify the self-indulgent droning of Hana’s father, but as it were he’s nearly falling asleep. The jet lag certainly doesn’t help.

He finds himself watching Liam, sitting perfectly poised at his table with Madeleine, ever the attentive royal. He smiles at all the right times, claps at all the right times, but the movements seem robotic and rehearsed, especially with Madeleine repeating them at his side. At one point, she even reaches a hand up to rest gently on his arm. Drake bristles, but once Hana’s father sits back down at his family’s table, Liam deftly pulls his arm out from under her grasp.

As the waiters circle them all, pouring different types of tea, Drake frowns into his cup. “They really don’t have anything stronger than leaf water?”

Olivia, seated at his left (and whoever had made the seating chart, he’d _love_ to have a word with that asshole), purses her lips. “Look Drake, some may find your budding alcoholism cute, but the rest of us know a defense mechanism when we see one. Drink your fucking tea.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Then don’t say it out loud.”

Riley sips her drink quietly from across the table. “I don’t blame you, Drake. I can’t wait for a New York cup of coffee.”

“Or the fifteen-hour flight to get it?” Olivia interjects. “Honestly, the itinerary for this trip was so poorly planned.”

“Oh, and you’re lecturing _me_ about complaining?” Drake raises an eyebrow. “We all have our vices, Olivia.”

She tilts up her chin at him. “Not comparable. Mine are hydrated skin and fresh air, while you just want to be drunk.”

“It’s a private plane,” Maxwell adds, talking over their bickering. “It’s not that bad.”

Olivia looks offended. “Did you think I was speaking about flying _commercial_?”

They all mill about once the sun goes down, subdued conversation filtering throughout the tea room. Drake thinks about making his escape into the gardens a few times, wondering if he can take a car back to the hotel from there, but every time he’s about to actually make a break for it he catches Liam’s eye and hesitates.

Even when they’re barely speaking, even when they haven’t had a moment alone in weeks, he still knows that Liam needs him there. So he stays.

He tries to wander out onto the balcony at one point, desperate for break from the crowd he so clearly doesn’t belong in, but stops short just before his hand reaches the door. Riley and Maxwell are already out there, leaning against the railing with their shoulders touching. Drake can hear their voices, but they’re talking too quietly to make out any words.

He doesn’t know why he stands there for a moment, watching the two of them. Riley wraps her arm around Maxwell’s waist, leaning in against his shoulder, and he stiffens for a second before tentatively reaching up his hand to stroke her hair. The moonlight glitters on the water below them, lighting them from behind so they seem like shadow puppets: a boy and a girl, shrouded in night. Drake turns away.

There isn’t anyone else around to talk to, so he waits for a break in Liam’s conversation to slip in at his side, touching his shoulder so lightly he’s not even sure Liam’s felt it at first. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know I’m heading out.”

Liam glances over in his direction. “I wish I could go with you.”

“Do you need me to stay?”

Liam’s eyes answer the question far differently than his words. “No, you should get some rest. It’s a long flight tomorrow.”

Any protest Drake might have made dies on his lips the second he sees Madeleine approaching, probably sensing how unwelcome her presence would be at this moment and coming to rectify it immediately. Too tired for the imminent altercation, Drake nods in Liam’s direction, taking his leave before Madeleine can make it within earshot.

—

He’s standing in a jewelry shop in New York the next time he sees Riley, the last place he’d expected either of them to be, and from the look on her face when she notices him at the counter, the feeling is mutual.

“Drake?” She sounds incredulous, brow furrowed as she stares at him. “What in god’s name are you doing here?”

“I’m just…” he fumbles for words. “I’m looking for an engagement present for Liam.”

Riley cocks her head, a smile playing on her lips. “For his sham engagement to the would-be queen of the underworld?”

“No,” Drake says, “Well, okay, I guess for _now_. But he has to have a real one eventually, right?”

Riley doesn’t answer, instead running her finger along a glass display case. “You’d really get him something here?”

“I don’t know.” He feels embarrassed, like she’s caught him in some private moment. “What are _you_ doing here, anyway?”

Riley holds up her hand to him, wiggling her ring finger with a mock smile on her face. “Madeleine’s wedding band, _dahl-ling_. I mean, who better to pick that shit up but the scorned court whore?”

“She’s seriously making you do that? God.”

“You could say that again.” Riley heads towards the front of the store, flagging down an employee. As she explains her quest, Drake’s eyes fall back down to the various items displayed for purchase. They all look like the kind of things he and Liam would make fun of: ornate, gaudy tributes to wealth.

Riley sidles back up to him a moment later, a small bag in one hand. “Mission accomplished. Let’s get this bitch her ring.”

“I need more time,” Drake says, still scanning the rows of potential gifts. “You go back without me.”

She nudges him with her elbow. “Drake, come on. You’re not going to get anything here. You’re too cheap to buy this shit and Liam’s too humble to accept it.”

“I’m not _cheap_ ,” Drake argues, although he knows she’s right. “And fine, if you’re the one who knows New York so well, where would you go?”

She looks up at him, eyes alight. “For real?”

“It’s not like I’m overflowing with options.”

“Then by all means,” she gestures dramatically towards the door. “Join me.”

They head out onto the sidewalk, the bustle of traffic and city life assaulting him the second the door falls shut. He’s still not used to this, not sure how anyone could be — let alone enjoy it — but Riley is in her element, energy radiating off her in waves.

“What do you get for the man who has everything?” she muses, swinging the bag with Madeleine’s ring as she walks, not sparing a second of care for it. “That’s half the question, isn’t it? I mean, what did you think you’d find in a jewelry store?”

“I don’t know,” Drake admits, dodging a group of pigeons on the sidewalk in front of him, hurrying to keep up with Riley. She is walking like a woman on a mission, although neither seems to have defined what that mission truly is. “Something nice. I wanted it to be… thoughtful, I guess.”

“You? Thoughtful?” Riley raises her eyebrows. “A nice change of pace.”

“Oh, shut up.”

They walk for a few minutes like that, chatting back and forth about nothing of consequence, Riley artfully avoiding the crowds on the sidewalk while he struggles to do the same. When she comes to an abrupt stop in front of a store window, he almost runs into her, focusing too intently on where she isn’t to notice where she is.

“Here,” she announces, turning to him with a smile. “This is where you want to be.”

“An antique store?” Drake eyes the shop warily. “What am I going to get him here, baseball cards and a rotary phone?”

“You’re so ungrateful.” She shoves his shoulder. “Come on, this place is actually really cool inside. You’ll see what I mean. Give it a shot?”

“Fine,” he replies, following her as she pushes open the door, a tiny bell jingling to announce their arrival. “I’m trusting you.”

And she’s right, just like she always is: the store isn’t like the antique shops in Cordonia, frequented mostly by old ladies on the verge of a hoarding habit, but instead is packed top to bottom with various artifacts and knickknacks of an age Drake thinks he might have liked to be a part of. A simpler time, with less distractions, when things were made with care and built to last.

Riley hangs back as he wanders between the shelves, scanning for something Liam might like. He almost forgets she’s there, lost in thought as he ponders the objects for sale.

He really isn’t sure why he’s doing this, why he feels the need to buy anything for Liam in the first place. Riley’s right, it’s a sham of an engagement and not one he would be keen to celebrate even if it weren’t. But he had promised Liam that he would be there for him, even if it meant standing at his side while he marries someone else, and he wants to do right by that. If they really were just best friends, maybe a gift would be the logical course of action. Something to remind Liam that he’ll always have his back.

When he sees it, nestled in a display box, half-hidden behind a bunch of costume jewelry, he knows immediately.

He’s careful when he picks it up, running a finger gingerly across the glass face, testing the weight of it in his hand. Riley pulls up alongside him, studying it too.

“A compass?” she asks, curious. “Everything in this store and that’s what you want? We have GPS now, Drake. Google Maps.”

“Shut up,” Drake says, watching the way the arrow stays true on north no matter how many times he rotates it. “He’ll understand. It’s like, if he ever feels like he’s on his own out there, maybe it can remind him that he’s never alone. There’s always someone — some _where_ , to come back to.”

Riley raises an eyebrow. “That’s… very thoughtful. And surprisingly deep.”

“Well, it’s a little bit practical, too,” Drake turns the compass over in his hands, studying the way the glass catches the light. “We used to say… we always wanted to actually learn how to sail, take a boat out and explore. We were kids, really; we didn’t understand how much work it takes to keep something together like that. We fucked it up a few times.”

“Oh, the trip where you almost got each other killed?” She laughs, and he’d forgotten that Liam had told her about that. Thankfully, he didn’t tell her everything. “What a fond memory that must be.”

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that,” Drake says, tucking the compass back inside its box, shutting the clasp to keep it safe. “He’ll understand.”

It’s expensive, but he grits his teeth and pays. It’s for Liam, anyway, and Liam deserves the whole world. For now, a compass will have to do.

As they walk back outside, Riley is quieter than usual, looking out at the cars that pass by them so quickly, the wind ruffling her hair.

“Are you ready for the UN thing?” he asks, wondering what could be keeping her so tight-lipped. “Maxwell was going on and on about finding you a ‘suitable gown’ yesterday.”

“He’s not a big fan of New York fashion,” Riley smiles, “It’s a wonder he’s a fan of _me_.”

The smile lingers, and she runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back behind one ear. “It’s just another gala, right? What’s there to be ready for after all of this?”

Something about her tone says otherwise, the way she twirls a strand of hair around her finger, how she looks down at her shoes. There’s a nervous energy about her, a lightness that could almost be contagious if it wasn’t for Liam’s engagement present heavy in his hand.

“You’ve got Tariq narrowed down,” Drake says, “Once you’ve cleared up that whole misunderstanding… I mean…”

“You know what, I’d almost forgotten about that.” Riley purses her lips, the spring in her step falling short this time. “Everything else just seemed to be… falling into place.”

“Exactly. And now so is Tariq.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” she says quietly, glancing down to the jewelry store bag in her hand, heavy with its own implications.

He’s confused, watching her with a puzzled expression. “Then what do you mean?”

She looks up at him, searching his face for a moment before biting her lip, looking away into the street. “Drake… I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I…” she hesitates, pushing her hair back again, “I want you to know that no matter what happens, tonight or with Tariq or just… any of it. I want you to know that I’m… I’m not going to marry Liam.”

Drake stops short, and so does his heart. “ _What_?”

She doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I think the world of him, I do, but if he does ask me… I’ll say no. I’ve thought about it a lot, and god knows there’s _been_ a lot of time to think, but when it comes down to it, it’s not where my heart is.” When she finally does look up at him, her expression is soft. “And… I think you know that’s not where his heart is either.”

“Brooks…” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you that.”

He struggles to think of something to say, finally managing, “Well, you could’ve told me that _before_ I bought an engagement present for him. I highly doubt that store takes returns.”

“You should still give it to him,” Riley says, eyes still trained on Drake, a depth of something in her face he’s never seen before. “He has to have a real one eventually, right?”

—

The UN party is everything he hates. Well, if he’s being honest, a party in itself is everything he hates — but it’s certainly exacerbated when the attendees are all snobby high-society elites. Liam has been monopolized by social climbers all evening, everyone wanting something from the fresh-faced King of Cordonia, and when he’s not surrounded by the nouveau riche he’s cornered by Madeleine, scowling per her usual. She’s barely even let him have a conversation with Maxwell, let alone Riley, and Drake can see the way the light fades from Liam’s face every time she takes his arm.

Drake’s at his usual post: in the corner with a glass of whiskey. It’s the only way to handle any of this shit these days. Maxwell had been with him for a while, keeping him company if only so Drake could find some amusement watching him attempt to talk to foreign dignitaries, but when Riley entered in that ball gown straight out of Cinderella, he had swept her up so fast Drake barely had time to say goodbye.

The two of them are dancing now, like they usually do, laughing and talking such that most of the other couples have given them a wide berth on the floor. Drake scans the room for Liam, who doesn’t appear to be on the ballroom floor. In fact, he doesn’t appear to be anywhere at all.

There’s an emergency exit by the dessert table, the last place he remembers Liam being, and sure enough Madeleine is lingering near there looking annoyed even as at least two heads of state are engaging her in conversation. Drake takes a last sip of his drink, leaving it on the closest table as he crosses the room.

Madeleine pays him no attention; none of the nobles ever do. He slips through the emergency exit door quietly; all the years he’s spent alongside Liam’s security have taught him a few tricks, one in particular being how much they love to disable door alarms in order to move in and out more easily.

Sure enough, when the door falls shut behind him and no blaring sound is heard, he glances up into the stairwell and sees Liam sitting on a step, looking down at his hands with exhaustion creased across his face.

At the sound of the door closing, he looks up, seeing Drake and managing a half-smile. “You always do know where to find me.”

“It’s one of my many gifts,” Drake answers, climbing the stairs and sitting down next to him, Liam scooting over to make room, but not too much. “Tired of the party?”

“Tired of everything,” Liam sighs. “I can’t wait for this trip to be over. I can’t wait for _Madeleine_ to be over.”

“Maxwell was saying he and Riley are flying to LA tomorrow. Did you guys finally track down Tariq?”

“We think so,” Liam purses his lips. “If all goes according to plan, they should have him ready to issue a statement before we leave the US. Of course, there’s a lot that can go wrong in the meantime, but it’s better than nothing.”

Drake nods, remembering Riley’s earlier conversation with him. “So, say it all works out. Then what?”

Liam fidgets with one of his cufflinks. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Have you talked to Riley?”

“Not yet, but…” he sighs, “I get the sense she may have found another path.”

“She did say something to me along those lines today.”

“I suspected as much. She’s been distant.”

“So have you.”

He doesn’t mean to say it, but the words are out before he can take them back. Liam breathes in deeply, and Drake’s eyes fall down to his hands. “Sorry, I just…”

“No, it’s okay,” Liam says, “I know I have been. And it’s not… Drake, I _want_ to be there for you. I’m just not so sure how to… do that yet.”

“I understand.”

Liam looks at him, and Drake is acutely aware of the way their knees are touching, Liam’s shoulder just a hairsbreadth away. His expression is carefully guarded, just as it’s been since they stepped off the plane, but Drake had hoped that maybe here, in this moment, he might have let himself _truly_ be honest.

“This is always how it’s gonna be with us, isn’t it?” Drake says, eyes sad as they trace over Liam’s face. “There’s always another bridge to cross, another obstacle to remove. You’ll never let it be the right time. They’ll always need you more than you need me. That’s the truth, right?”

“Drake…” Liam looks defeated. “Please —”

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all this shit. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Forget it, okay?”

“No,” Liam runs a hand through his hair. “You’re right. You deserve better from me.”

He pulls himself up by the railing, brushing the dust off his pants as he stands. “I need to go back in there before Madeleine comes looking for me.”

“Liam, wait,” Drake stands up too, reaching out towards his shoulder but hesitating before he makes contact. He lets his hand fall back to his side. “I’m sorry. What I wanted to say… I got you something. A present.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I did,” Drake says, “Can I come by your room after this to give it to you? We can… talk, if you want. Or I can leave right away. Whatever you think is best. I just… I want you to have it before everything gets crazy.”

Liam seems to consider the request for a moment, but finally he nods. “Of course. Just let me know when you plan to stop by.”

They leave through the door at the same time, both saying nothing, parting ways without another word as the cacophony of the ballroom floods Drake’s ears. He heads for the bar, orders a double, no ice. He might as well make it his signature drink, call it ‘The Liam.’

Olivia is the only vaguely friendly face (and the vague is loose at best) that he spies among the crowd. Maxwell and Riley seem to have disappeared, and Hana must’ve given up too. He wishes they’d have told him before they’d all collectively decided to bail.

The whiskey they pour him is American, which — well, what did he expect. Besides, he isn’t in a position to complain about free alcohol. He drinks it anyway.

Olivia makes a disgusted sound when he approaches her, a drink in her hand as well, but despite her vocal opposition to his presence she doesn’t make any attempt to leave. She’s leaning back against a marble pillar, lipstick still untouched despite the bright red mark on her wine glass. “God, to what do I owe the absolute displeasure of _your_ company?”

“Hello to you too, Olivia.”

“And you’re wearing a suit! A welcome change, makes you look slightly less ugly.”

“You don’t have to keep acting like you hate me,” Drake says, shooting her a glare. “I think we’re past that.”

“I do hate you,” Olivia replies demurely, looking at him disdainfully over the rim of her glass. “Sex and hate go hand in hand, don’t you know?”

Drake just rolls his eyes. “Listen, Liv —”

“Don’t call me that in public.”

“Jesus, okay. _Olivia_. I just wanted to say, I think Maxwell and Riley are getting close to cracking this Tariq case open. And once we’ve taken care of that, Madeleine should be out of the picture.”

She doesn’t look at him. “And this concerns me how?”

“That’s… I mean, that’s good news for you though, right?”

“How would you figure that?”

“Well,” he shoves one hand in his pocket. “I talked to Riley a bit today and… something tells me she’s not particularly interested in being Liam’s queen.”

Olivia turns her head, eyes narrowed like a hawk. “And you think _I_ am?”

He’s confused, which is not all that uncommon, but if there was _anything_ he had ever been certain of, it was Olivia’s affection for Liam. He stares back at her, brow furrowed. “Um… yeah?”

She turns away, taking another long drink of wine before she speaks. “I don’t want to be anybody’s backup plan.”

“Come on, you’re not a backup plan, it’s _Riley_ and she —”

“I wasn’t talking about Riley.”

Drake’s mouth falls open slightly, his words dying on his lips. For a moment, they just stand there: him struggling to find something to say, her finishing her glass and setting it down on the tray of a passing waiter.

She’s the one who breaks the silence, sighing. “He’s in love with you, Drake. Don’t kid yourself. He may think he’s got a handle on it, but he absolutely doesn’t. Don’t ask me why, but when it comes to Liam, anyone but you will always be a backup plan.”

“Olivia…”

“Don’t say anything. It sucks enough knowing what awful taste Liam has in men.” She shrugs. “He deserves better than you. When it comes down to it… he deserves better than both of us.”

“I thought… I thought you were in love with him.”

“So did I,” she answers, looking out across the expansive ballroom with empty eyes. “But maybe I’ve never been in love with anyone.”

She leaves him there, standing at the edge of the room with her words still ringing in his ears. He abandons his whiskey at a nearby table and shoves his hands in his pockets, heading towards the door. Time to call it a night.

He runs into Maxwell, who turns a corner straight into him, blinking at Drake in a daze when he stops. He doesn’t look all the way there, and in fact he looks a little worse for wear: hair messy, tie loose. It’s unlike Maxwell to be anything less than picture perfect at a major event, and Drake regards him warily.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Maxwell runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just been…” He smiles, suddenly, so brightly that Drake is starting to wonder if he’s on something. “It’s been a good day. A really, really good day.”

“Well, glad somebody’s happy.” Drake takes a step back, giving Maxwell some space. “I thought you’d left.”

“No, no,” Maxwell shakes his head, still smiling. “Still here.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“I’m spectacular,” Maxwell answers, beaming out at the room even as his eyes don’t seem to be focused on anything at all. “In fact, I think I’m in love with New York.”

Drake sighs. “You’re so weird.”

Maxwell turns back towards him. “Isn’t it great?”

Drake claps a hand on his shoulder, side-stepping out of his way before Maxwell can manage to continue the conversation. “Sure, Beaumont. I’ll see you.”

Unfortunately for him, Maxwell is too quick, grabbing his arm and stopping him from his retreat. “Drake, wait.”

He sighs again, looking at Maxwell with mild annoyance. “What? I’m trying to leave, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You should talk to him,” Maxwell says, suddenly serious. “Liam, I mean. Before you accept that it’s all a done deal.”

“It’s been a done deal since he became King, Maxwell. No conversation can change that.”

“You never know,” Maxwell’s gaze falls on the stairway up to the second floor, where Riley is slowly descending back into the ballroom, holding her skirts with each step down. He smiles again, that same ridiculous expression on his face. “You never know unless you try.”

Drake breaks free of his grasp. “Yeah, sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”

—

Bastien is posted by Liam’s hotel room door, and Drake has to wait for him to call in clearance before he can go inside, Liam apologizing the whole time. “It’s because we’re in a different country, and all the recent threats… they usually aren’t so uptight.”

“No worries, I’m used to it,” Drake says, holding the box with the compass tight in his hands. He hadn’t bothered to wrap it — in hindsight, maybe he should’ve — but he’d stopped back at the jewelry store after the party to get it engraved, a final touch before handing it off to Liam. Just six words: _In case you lose your way_.

Liam hasn’t even dressed down from the event yet. He lingers in the doorway as Drake passes, shutting the door behind him. “Do you want anything? They stocked the whole kitchen.”

“You have an entire kitchen in here?” Drake laughs. “What’s the point of that?”

“Well, what if I wanted to cook?”

“You’ve never cooked anything in your entire life, Liam.”

“Not true,” Liam crosses the room, motioning for Drake to follow. “There was that one time I made a s’more when we were camping.”

“A s’more? Seriously? That does _not_ count.”

They emerge into the enormous bedroom of the suite, complete with an ornate four-poster bed, a study inlet, and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the city skyline. It’s the kind of splendor Liam settles into so gracefully, while all Drake can do is stare.

“Damn,” he says softly, “They set you up nice.”

“It’s so unnecessary,” Liam sounds embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s only me in here. Did you know there’s two other bedrooms? And they still change the sheets every day.” He looks back at Drake. “See, this is why I don’t need presents from you. You _really_ shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.” Drake shifts his weight, fidgeting with the box in his hands. “It’s… an engagement present.”

Liam breathes out slowly. “I see.”

“Not with Madeleine, obviously. But you’ll… I mean, we both know…”

Liam looks at him, and Drake’s words catch in his throat. If he’d ever really thought these last few weeks estranged from one another would change the way he felt, he’d been lying to himself. The warmth in Liam’s eyes is enough to make his chest feel tight. He tries to imagine standing at his side celebrating another engagement — for real this time — but his heart won’t let him.

He can’t quite bring himself to say the words, so instead he holds the gift out towards Liam. “Here.”

Liam takes it from him, studying the box for a moment before undoing the clasp and opening it. When he sees what’s inside, a small smile tugs at his lips, and he gently lifts the compass out of its bed and sets the box down on the desk next to them.

Drake watches him, biting his lip. “I thought you’d like it, you know, something to…” _To remind you of me_. “To keep you grounded, to guide you home. I mean, not literally, but.”

Liam is still looking down at the compass, fingers brushing gently over the glass surface. Drake suddenly feels nervous. “I know it’s not something practical that you’ll really use, and it’s not even… it’s not like gold or anything. I just thought of you as soon as I saw it, and you’ve always liked sailing. Not that — I mean I doubt you have time for that now. But if you wanted to, you could use it. It still works.”

Liam still hasn’t said anything, still hasn’t looked at him. He turns the compass over in his hand, runs his thumb along the engraving on the back.

“Oh, that’s…” Drake can feel himself blushing, which is mortifying, and he just keeps talking even though he’s not sure what else to say. Liam sets the compass on the desk in its box, slowly raising his eyes to Drake’s. “So you don’t accidentally think it’s just any old compass, which I don’t know why you would unless you have a lot of them laying around, honestly it was a stupid —”

And then Drake doesn’t need to say anything at all, because Liam is kissing him just like he did when they were seventeen.


End file.
